


The Jumper

by lindsey_grissom



Series: After Hours [2]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-13
Updated: 2019-08-13
Packaged: 2020-08-20 12:37:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20227978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lindsey_grissom/pseuds/lindsey_grissom
Summary: Another snippet of life after work for our favourite couple.





	The Jumper

“Have you seen my needles?” Elsie asked, two steps into the living room, one hand still curled around the door frame.

Without looking up from his book, Charles pointed to the far corner where she could just see a glint of metal fallen behind the side table. She shook her head with a sigh, there was little doubt that she’d lost a stitch or two when they fell down there.

She thought she’d put them away last night, but it had been late by the time they retired to bed and it seemed that she had dreamt the moment, or else was remembering one of many other such nights.

With a little more effort than she liked, she finally had the bundle of needles and wool free and settled herself down beside her husband to work back over the half destroyed line.

The soft clicking of the needles and the quiet rustle of book pages filled the little room for a while as they lost themselves in their tasks. Elsie smiled at the half-formed huffs escaping from the man beside her as he read.

Some things were so very different now, to their lives even only a year before; the stillness of their cottage, the night clothes and robes they wore without embarrassment, the accidental brush of thighs and elbows against each other.

Yet in other ways they could just as easily be in her parlour or his pantry; glasses of sherry almost empty, the quiet comfort of being together without the need to fill every moment with words, being together in itself, as the day waned into evening.

How often had they sat similarly, in all of their years of knowing each other? Elsie wasn’t sure, but she thought it perhaps numbered almost as many days as had passed since she came to Downton.

Certainly, they had hardly spent an evening apart once she took the mantle of Housekeeper, aside from during the London seasons of course. But even before she recalled there had been moments when as Head Housemaid she had worked late at the staff table and looked up from her sewing to find the Butler quietly working away in his usual dining seat.

He never spoke to her then, simply turned a page and another until her attention had returned again to her work. She had been content with his silence and fancied that he had been as happy with her own, though his presence had even then worked to have her feel less alone in the large house.

“I thought you were making a scarf?”

His voice broke the silence and her reverie. With a glance she took in his raised eyebrows, black and grey tufts risen from beneath the frames of his spectacles as he watched her, head turned.

“What makes you think I’m not?”

The left brow rose higher as he looked down at the bundle in her lap. “That is not a scarf, Mrs Carson, neither middle nor the ends of one.”

She allowed her own brows to rise. “Mr Carson, I had no idea you had become something of an expert in knitting patterns.”

She watched him close his book and turn more fully toward her, plucking his glasses from his nose, and she lay the needles down carefully against her knee. She would likely get little more done tonight, the brief peace after dinner having done its duty in clearing her mind from the day’s work.

“It would be hard not to, with how much you’ve been at it these last few months.” He pointed at the scrap of knitted blue wool she had laid out on the arm of the settee, the peice finished the night before. “It’s almost Spring, Elsie. The lad will have more jumpers than days to wear them as it is.”

She had, she supposed, taken to her newest hobby with overwhelming enthusiasm. She’d always had an affinity for knitting, if not the time to dedicate to it as her Ma had done.

In her new freedom of some evenings at home each week and the arrival of the darling Bates’ boy, she had perhaps become a tad prolific in her creations. Though it would do Charles well to remember how pleased both Mr Bates and Anna were each time she gifted the wee lad. He hadn’t anything by way of grandparents to dote upon him and Charles had refused to allow her to measure him for a jumper of his own.

If she had taken to filling the baby’s cupboards with jumpers and hats and soft brown booties then Charles really should be given some of the blame.

She’d have been just as happy to be knitting for him, though in truth she could hardly imagine him dressed in anything more casual than his travelling clothes. He did garden in both trousers and light jacket, after all.

“Thank you, Charles, but I had noticed the changing seasons.” She reached to stroke along the soft wool of the tiny half-jumper. It wouldn’t be large enough for Anna’s lad, besides. “This is for Master George.”

She had shocked him, she knew, which admittedly was why she had worded it so. She liked nothing so much as keeping her husband on his toes and there was nothing like a hint of impropriety to bring his dander right up.

“Elsie! You can’t–” She wondered if perhaps part of his censure came from his worry that her efforts would be rejected and her feelings hurt. That sounded just as much like her husband as his worry over class divides.

“Relax, Charlie. This wee thing wouldn’t fit on a single arm! You’ve seen how he’s shot up these last few weeks.” He would take after both his mother and father in that; a tall, strong Earl eventually, if not now while he still found his footing on ever growing limbs.

“Then, what is it for?”

“For his bear of course. He asked me after church this week if I might make him a jumper for it.” She saw him tracking back in his memory for the moment that Master George had approached her. Charles had been engaged in conversation with Lady Mary at the time, Elsie wasn’t too surprised he missed the exchange. “It would seem that his Lordship’s newest puppy got hold of the lad’s bear and whilst Nanny was able to mend the stitching, it lost rather a lot of fur in the tussle. He was worried it might catch a cold.”

He had looked so worried, so much like his father as he twisted his hands before him, bright eyes peering up at her. Even had she any inclination otherwise, she would have agreed just to see his features lift. She hadn’t, of course; it was hardly a hardship to provide something for the children.

“Well, Elsie Carson.”

“Yes.” She nudged when nothing else came, but for his dark eyes fixing on her so intensely.

He shook his head and lifted a hand to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing the skin beneath her eye. “Nothing, I suppose.”

She frowned at him, even as she leaned into the touch. “Charles you’re not making a lick of sense.”

“Perhaps.” He kissed her then; barely shifting on the settee, he bent his head and pressed their lips together. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders and she rose up a little to meet him, taking his gentle pressure and deepening it. “You’ve a whole new generation of acolytes, I shouldn’t wonder.” He added when they broke for breath. “Perhaps I should be jealous?”

She laughed, light and breathy. “Oh go on with you.” And reached to kiss him again, stopping only when the needles shifted from her knee to fall with a clang to the floor.

“I offered you your own jumper, Mr Carson.” She added as she pushed him away to collect up the spill. “You cannot complain now.”

She felt his eyes on her as she tucked the needles and wool away in their basket and it was only the creak of the settee as he stood that saved her from a mild scare when his arms circled her waist from behind, one hand settling low on her waist.

His breath has hot against her crown and she lent back into his chest, waiting for his voice to encourage them to bed. Instead he squeezed her middle once and pulled away. “You said nothing to me about jumpers for bears, Mrs Carson. I’d have had quite a different answer if you had.” He took himself from the room without another glance and she watched after him, listening to the tread of his feet on the stairs.

“Are you coming, Elsie?” He called back to her when she was sure he had reached the last step.

She was going to knit him a jumper, she decided. And he was going to wear it, even if only in their own home. That would teach him to tease her so.

For now, she spread the last of the ashes out, the fire’s flames long faded and made her way to follow her husband, turning the lights as she passed.

It was early, the sun still setting, but that hardly mattered. It would be time yet, before they settled in to sleep.


End file.
